


Constitutional Law

by Anonymous



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Arguing, F/M, Light-Hearted, Making Up, No Angst, Season 4? Never heard of her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:08:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29812371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In which Veronica and Logan fight, and Veronica puts her fancy law degree to good use.
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Comments: 27
Kudos: 61
Collections: Anonymous





	Constitutional Law

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic. It’s just something I wrote quickly to procrastinate an essay I have later this week. Anonymous cause I’m still unsure about this whole posting fanfic thing lol. I’m really more of a reader than a writer.

He’s not sure how the fight started, if he’s being perfectly honest. They were having a quiet evening in, watching SVU at Veronica’s insistence, when he said something (or maybe she said something?), and before he knew it they were fighting. They were rehashing old arguments: money, her commitment issues, his overprotective nature. He’s pretty sure Madison’s name even came up at one point. And it’s easy; he barely has to work at it, sticking to the familiar script they’ve-

  
“Okay, you know what? I can’t deal with this tonight. I’m invoking my third amendment right!” Well, okay, _that_ was new.

  
“Invoking your what?” He asks, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Now, he considers himself a pretty smart guy. He knows some of the amendments — the important ones anyway, like the first, the much-debated second, the fourteenth, and the nineteenth. He’s intimately familiar with the fifth, given all the times he’s been arrested, but the third?

  
“You heard me. My third amendment right, so get out, buddy.” And before he can protest, she’s rushing him out the door with more strength than her small stature should really allow. He turns around, only to be met with a slamming door and the click of a lock.

  
“Veronica!” He tries, but she doesn’t respond. He huffs down the steps toward his car. Because this is just like her, isn’t it? Always pushing him away at the slightest hint of trouble, always shutting him out (both literally and figuratively). He slams the door as he gets into the car, but it doesn’t give him much satisfaction, seeing as she already slammed the door on him.

* * *

It’s not until he’s in bed, anger cleared after a relaxing shower and those breathing exercises his therapist taught him, that he remembers her earlier words. Her third amendment right? He supposes he might as well look it up and learn something new, since his previous (much more enjoyable) evening plans have been cancelled.

  
_“No soldier shall, in time of peace, be_   
_quartered in any house, without the_   
_consent of the Owner, nor in time of_   
_war, but in a manner to be prescribed_   
_by law.”_

  
He can’t help the laugh that bubbles forth at that. It’s not even a bitter laugh. It contains no traces of hurt at being shoved out of her life once again, even if only for an evening. Because, well, it’s such an endearingly _Veronica_ thing to reference. Miss top of her class at Columbia Law. She didn’t want to be a lawyer, insists she wouldn’t have liked it, but she does like knowing all the intricacies of the law. He remembers how one evening after a particularly hard case, she’d delighted in telling him all the little ways her actions could have gotten her into trouble, if anyone at the Balboa County Sheriff’s office were competent enough to figure out it was her. He’d halfheartedly scolded her, too enamored by her enthusiasm (and too confident in her ability to outwit local law enforcement) to be seriously concerned.

* * *

He arrives early the next morning, prompted both by his own desire to see her and her simple text of “Come over?”. He knocks on the door, feeling slightly nervous. Just because he’s no longer mad at her doesn’t mean that she’s no longer mad at him.

  
“I’m sorry,” she babbles as soon as she opens the door. “I overreacted. I shouldn’t have kicked you out. We’ve talked about this. I just — I was so angry, and-”

  
“It’s okay.”

  
“It is?”

  
“Yeah. I mean, I was angry at first, don’t get me wrong. But I overreacted too, and anyway, it was kind of cute.”

  
“Cute?” She scrunches up her nose indignantly, expressing her displeasure at being called cute in the cutest way possible.

  
“The way you did it. Calling upon your constitutional rights. It was very you.”

  
“Oh.” She looks contemplative for a second.”Well in that case, I hereby give you permission to be quartered in my home any time you want, from now until forever. Even if I’m in a bad mood.”

  
He smiles wide at that because he knows what she’s trying to say, what she doesn’t have the words to say. “You know what? I might just take you up on that offer.”


End file.
